(the dust of ages) chapter thirteen: butterfly
Title: The Dust of Ages
Author: missaliceblue
Pairing: Peter/Claire. Written for eowyn_girl.
Rating: R for themes, language, some adult situations. But mostly themes.
Status: 13/15. I’ve written the whole thing already, and will try to update daily.
Summary: Peter and Claire were both caught up in this crazy, never-ending circle a long time ago. The real question was, if they could change how things turned out, would they?
Previous chapters here.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
------------------------
Claire started having these horrible nightmares. They got so bad that Heidi dragged her to a specialist, some guy that Right Now Peter had recommended.
Right Now Peter had started traveling with Mohinder all the time. She hardly ever saw him anymore.
Her nightmares were diagnosed as night terrors, and the doctor prescribed her sleeping pills, ones that make her fall asleep quickly and deeply.
But they don’t stop her from dreaming.
In her worst nightmare, he’s making love to her, and it’s beautiful and sweet and perfect and just as he starts to come his face fades, and she can see the wall behind him through the thin outline of his head.
So she tries to speak but can’t, and then she realizes that she’s a butterfly - a half-broken butterfly, struggling under his weight.
He’s vanished before she can say anything, leaves her with a heap of empty blanket above her naked body, and even though she can fly away now, she’s still broken.
That’s when she wakes up, crying and helpless, his name on her lips.
-----
She went to college, where she studied, partied, and had lots and lots of boyfriends. She joined a sorority and everyone was always very impressed when she’d beat the frat boys at their drinking games. She dated almost indiscriminately, a never-ending parade of boys that never lasted long.
For two long years she did this, until it got boring. She got her fill of the experience, because she knew that something else was on the horizon, and it scared her, but she pushed along down that path anyway.
She was too far down it to change her mind at this point. Wouldn’t do it even if she could.
-----
She was dead asleep in her little apartment by the college in Williamsburg when he finally came to her.
She gasped when she felt him shaking her shoulder, unsure if this was really him or just another one of her dreams - the fevered one this time, the one where she encourages him to pull off all of her clothes and put his hands everywhere.
It was her one real regret in regards to him…and it was a big one. When she thought about it rationally, she recognized that it wasn’t a real regret - it couldn’t be. Her regret was tempered with the experience of a woman, something she hadn’t been at the time.
It was that they didn't make love in her bedroom in Odessa, the night she graduated. He would of, probably, she thought. With the slightest encouragement from her.
But she had been scared, and she hadn’t asked him to, and so he hadn’t.
This time was going to be different. She knew that the minute she looked up at him in her dark room, recognized the precious face that she had always been half-expecting, always hoping for.
He started to say something but she put a finger to his lips. And then she pulled him wordlessly over her.
Two years ago she had been a girl. She’d worn a pink sundress and when Future Peter had kissed her she’d felt out of place and nervous - her ankles had seemed wobbly and she’d clung to him to steady her.
He had been so sweet to her though - so gentle. He’d kissed her thoroughly, and hadn’t asked for more.
This time she found no reticence in herself - no nervous shaking in her thighs as he crouched over her body, ran his hands up her arms. He wasn’t nervous either, just seemed…eager. And tender.
Her wait had almost ended, and this was the beginning.
He kissed her deeply, and the moonlight from her window spilled over them as he pushed her shirt up and hurriedly clawed off his own.
When he spread his body over hers, she felt that same arcane recognition vibrate through them - that the bones that were rubbing over her right now were the closest to a home she was ever going to get.
She covered his hands with her own as they trailed up her body, and nearly choked on her own breath as he touched her.
She ran her hands up his torso, over his face, drank in every detail. Every kiss could be her last with him, she was painfully aware of that fact, even now.
His mouth was hard and aching and it made her want to call foul, to pause the playback, or something, because she could barely breathe, and it felt like she was dying, quietly, because every movement was perfect and she wanted to savour every second of this, spend minutes analyzing every feeling that was trembling through her.
But it kept escalating, kept going a step further, and pretty soon he was right there and she hooked her feet around to the back of his knees and pulled on his arms until he was in.
He went very, very still. His eyes were on hers - just as excited, and maybe a little scared now, too. She smiled at him softly, encouragingly.
He kissed her deeply and whispered a few words to her, and then he began to move.
Her breath hitched, and she found she couldn’t speak.
Even if she could, she’d have nothing to say.
This was how it was supposed to be from the beginning.
-----
She was alone when she woke up, the sheets twisted around her body, her hair rumpled up on her forehead. She sat up and felt the familiar groggy ache in the back of her skull, courtesy of those stupid sleeping pills.
He was gone. She’d expected that, but it still hurt when faced with the reality of the situation.
She saw the bottle on her bed stand, and frowned.
Those little buggers are the reason she kept falling asleep last night. She had questions that she had wanted to ask him, damn it. All she seemed to have been able to do was roll over and wrap her legs around him and fall asleep after.
She hadn’t been lucid enough to actually think, and too tired to stay awake.
She had needed to ask him when he was coming back. He better be coming back.
And she frowned again at the sleeping pills on her desk.
That was when she saw the envelope next to them.
It was already ripped open. It had a few pieces of paper in it, and a small key.
Claire’s fingers scrambled over the envelope, and pulled out the first piece of paper that she touched.
Hi Claire
Sorry I had to leave so fast. I’ve already been here too long, though…
Her eyes widened as she continued reading.
-----
It was a year and a half since that morning, since the first time she’d read that letter. Claire shook her head, the memories washing over her and then receding, pulling away like the tide.
And what was left was Peter, Right Now Peter, who was still standing there, pinned against the door in her apartment, scared shitless because she had just told him that Danny was his son.
“Peter, you don’t have to be afraid, or shy. I know you well, so well. You don’t have to pretend with me.” She smiled at him tremulously, trying to help him make this transition as smoothly as possible.
“What. What are you talking about?” said Peter shakily. He was frightened, nearly out of his wits. She could see the fear and confusion in his eyes.
She tried to speak plainly and soothingly. “Listen. Just listen. I’m going to try and explain it to you the way he told me to.”
“Who?” asked Peter, his mouth remaining open with shock.
She paused. Was there any better way to say this?
“You,” said Claire. “You told me.”
Peter’s voice was high-pitched and upset. “What the hell does that mean? What I told you? I didn't tell you anything!”
“You’re right,” said Claire calmly. “It’s just that we - that you and I have a history here. A pretty extensive one.”
His eyes continued to roll over her, scared and a little bit suspicious.
“Here. I’m supposed to give you this,” she said, and held an envelope out to him. He flinched away from it at first, like it was diseased or something.
“Sorry, by the way, that it’s opened. It was already opened when I got it,” said Claire. She shook the envelope at him, and he finally took it.
“What the hell is this?” he said, and pulled out a sheet of paper. “This is my handwriting.”
It was a beat up piece of paper, much-folded and ripped on one corner. Written on it were many scrawled lines, all in Peter’s unique chicken scratch hand.
He looked at her with confusion. “But I didn't write this,” said Peter. “I know I didn't write this.”
“I know,” said Claire, and she raised her hands up. “Don’t shoot the messenger here, okay? You told me to give that to you.”
“I did?” asked Peter.
“Yes. You. Future You.”
“I can’t time travel,” said Peter shortly.
Claire spoke primly. “I assure you that you can.”
“I don’t. Know how. To do it,” said Peter condescendingly.
“You do.”
He gave her a dirty look, and turned his eyes back to the paper. “What are all these dates?”
Claire smiled. “These are the dates that you came to visit me.”
“September 2006. I didn't even know you then.”
“I know,” said Claire. “But you came back because you had to help me. You helped me stay alive.”
Peter was still confused, still pissed, but his ears snapped to attention at the mention of keeping Claire alive. “What did I do?”
“You made me trust you,” said Claire, smiling up at him. “You made me trust you, and you told me to follow my instincts. It kept me alive, you know - it’s what made me run to New York…it’s what made me do everything. I’d have probably died if I’d stayed in Odessa during that time.”
He looked at her blankly.
She sighed, and pointed at the paper. “You came to visit me, on those dates. And you changed things for the better.”
“Are you saying…are you saying on one of those visits that I…” Peter ran a hand over his forehead.
“Not necessarily,” said Claire with a shrug. “Besides. You can always change things. You did back then, after all.”
Peter looked very pale, and Claire sighed. “Take them. You should take them and go back to your apartment. You’ll figure it out from there. The rules are in there, too.”
“Rules?”
“The other piece of paper, see?” She pulled out another slip of paper, one that was not as folded and stained. “Just read them before you go,” she said exasperatedly.
Peter put a hand on the doorknob. “I told you, I can’t time travel.”
“And I told you that you can,” said Claire, and she rolled her eyes. “Figure it out.”
He frowned as he jerked the door open, and didn't say goodbye before he left.
Claire smiled.
Sometimes her Future needed a little push.
next chapter!
Author: missaliceblue
Pairing: Peter/Claire. Written for eowyn_girl.
Rating: R for themes, language, some adult situations. But mostly themes.
Status: 13/15. I’ve written the whole thing already, and will try to update daily.
Summary: Peter and Claire were both caught up in this crazy, never-ending circle a long time ago. The real question was, if they could change how things turned out, would they?
Previous chapters here.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
------------------------
Claire started having these horrible nightmares. They got so bad that Heidi dragged her to a specialist, some guy that Right Now Peter had recommended.
Right Now Peter had started traveling with Mohinder all the time. She hardly ever saw him anymore.
Her nightmares were diagnosed as night terrors, and the doctor prescribed her sleeping pills, ones that make her fall asleep quickly and deeply.
But they don’t stop her from dreaming.
In her worst nightmare, he’s making love to her, and it’s beautiful and sweet and perfect and just as he starts to come his face fades, and she can see the wall behind him through the thin outline of his head.
So she tries to speak but can’t, and then she realizes that she’s a butterfly - a half-broken butterfly, struggling under his weight.
He’s vanished before she can say anything, leaves her with a heap of empty blanket above her naked body, and even though she can fly away now, she’s still broken.
That’s when she wakes up, crying and helpless, his name on her lips.
-----
She went to college, where she studied, partied, and had lots and lots of boyfriends. She joined a sorority and everyone was always very impressed when she’d beat the frat boys at their drinking games. She dated almost indiscriminately, a never-ending parade of boys that never lasted long.
For two long years she did this, until it got boring. She got her fill of the experience, because she knew that something else was on the horizon, and it scared her, but she pushed along down that path anyway.
She was too far down it to change her mind at this point. Wouldn’t do it even if she could.
-----
She was dead asleep in her little apartment by the college in Williamsburg when he finally came to her.
She gasped when she felt him shaking her shoulder, unsure if this was really him or just another one of her dreams - the fevered one this time, the one where she encourages him to pull off all of her clothes and put his hands everywhere.
It was her one real regret in regards to him…and it was a big one. When she thought about it rationally, she recognized that it wasn’t a real regret - it couldn’t be. Her regret was tempered with the experience of a woman, something she hadn’t been at the time.
It was that they didn't make love in her bedroom in Odessa, the night she graduated. He would of, probably, she thought. With the slightest encouragement from her.
But she had been scared, and she hadn’t asked him to, and so he hadn’t.
This time was going to be different. She knew that the minute she looked up at him in her dark room, recognized the precious face that she had always been half-expecting, always hoping for.
He started to say something but she put a finger to his lips. And then she pulled him wordlessly over her.
Two years ago she had been a girl. She’d worn a pink sundress and when Future Peter had kissed her she’d felt out of place and nervous - her ankles had seemed wobbly and she’d clung to him to steady her.
He had been so sweet to her though - so gentle. He’d kissed her thoroughly, and hadn’t asked for more.
This time she found no reticence in herself - no nervous shaking in her thighs as he crouched over her body, ran his hands up her arms. He wasn’t nervous either, just seemed…eager. And tender.
Her wait had almost ended, and this was the beginning.
He kissed her deeply, and the moonlight from her window spilled over them as he pushed her shirt up and hurriedly clawed off his own.
When he spread his body over hers, she felt that same arcane recognition vibrate through them - that the bones that were rubbing over her right now were the closest to a home she was ever going to get.
She covered his hands with her own as they trailed up her body, and nearly choked on her own breath as he touched her.
She ran her hands up his torso, over his face, drank in every detail. Every kiss could be her last with him, she was painfully aware of that fact, even now.
His mouth was hard and aching and it made her want to call foul, to pause the playback, or something, because she could barely breathe, and it felt like she was dying, quietly, because every movement was perfect and she wanted to savour every second of this, spend minutes analyzing every feeling that was trembling through her.
But it kept escalating, kept going a step further, and pretty soon he was right there and she hooked her feet around to the back of his knees and pulled on his arms until he was in.
He went very, very still. His eyes were on hers - just as excited, and maybe a little scared now, too. She smiled at him softly, encouragingly.
He kissed her deeply and whispered a few words to her, and then he began to move.
Her breath hitched, and she found she couldn’t speak.
Even if she could, she’d have nothing to say.
This was how it was supposed to be from the beginning.
-----
She was alone when she woke up, the sheets twisted around her body, her hair rumpled up on her forehead. She sat up and felt the familiar groggy ache in the back of her skull, courtesy of those stupid sleeping pills.
He was gone. She’d expected that, but it still hurt when faced with the reality of the situation.
She saw the bottle on her bed stand, and frowned.
Those little buggers are the reason she kept falling asleep last night. She had questions that she had wanted to ask him, damn it. All she seemed to have been able to do was roll over and wrap her legs around him and fall asleep after.
She hadn’t been lucid enough to actually think, and too tired to stay awake.
She had needed to ask him when he was coming back. He better be coming back.
And she frowned again at the sleeping pills on her desk.
That was when she saw the envelope next to them.
It was already ripped open. It had a few pieces of paper in it, and a small key.
Claire’s fingers scrambled over the envelope, and pulled out the first piece of paper that she touched.
Hi Claire
Sorry I had to leave so fast. I’ve already been here too long, though…
Her eyes widened as she continued reading.
-----
It was a year and a half since that morning, since the first time she’d read that letter. Claire shook her head, the memories washing over her and then receding, pulling away like the tide.
And what was left was Peter, Right Now Peter, who was still standing there, pinned against the door in her apartment, scared shitless because she had just told him that Danny was his son.
“Peter, you don’t have to be afraid, or shy. I know you well, so well. You don’t have to pretend with me.” She smiled at him tremulously, trying to help him make this transition as smoothly as possible.
“What. What are you talking about?” said Peter shakily. He was frightened, nearly out of his wits. She could see the fear and confusion in his eyes.
She tried to speak plainly and soothingly. “Listen. Just listen. I’m going to try and explain it to you the way he told me to.”
“Who?” asked Peter, his mouth remaining open with shock.
She paused. Was there any better way to say this?
“You,” said Claire. “You told me.”
Peter’s voice was high-pitched and upset. “What the hell does that mean? What I told you? I didn't tell you anything!”
“You’re right,” said Claire calmly. “It’s just that we - that you and I have a history here. A pretty extensive one.”
His eyes continued to roll over her, scared and a little bit suspicious.
“Here. I’m supposed to give you this,” she said, and held an envelope out to him. He flinched away from it at first, like it was diseased or something.
“Sorry, by the way, that it’s opened. It was already opened when I got it,” said Claire. She shook the envelope at him, and he finally took it.
“What the hell is this?” he said, and pulled out a sheet of paper. “This is my handwriting.”
It was a beat up piece of paper, much-folded and ripped on one corner. Written on it were many scrawled lines, all in Peter’s unique chicken scratch hand.
He looked at her with confusion. “But I didn't write this,” said Peter. “I know I didn't write this.”
“I know,” said Claire, and she raised her hands up. “Don’t shoot the messenger here, okay? You told me to give that to you.”
“I did?” asked Peter.
“Yes. You. Future You.”
“I can’t time travel,” said Peter shortly.
Claire spoke primly. “I assure you that you can.”
“I don’t. Know how. To do it,” said Peter condescendingly.
“You do.”
He gave her a dirty look, and turned his eyes back to the paper. “What are all these dates?”
Claire smiled. “These are the dates that you came to visit me.”
“September 2006. I didn't even know you then.”
“I know,” said Claire. “But you came back because you had to help me. You helped me stay alive.”
Peter was still confused, still pissed, but his ears snapped to attention at the mention of keeping Claire alive. “What did I do?”
“You made me trust you,” said Claire, smiling up at him. “You made me trust you, and you told me to follow my instincts. It kept me alive, you know - it’s what made me run to New York…it’s what made me do everything. I’d have probably died if I’d stayed in Odessa during that time.”
He looked at her blankly.
She sighed, and pointed at the paper. “You came to visit me, on those dates. And you changed things for the better.”
“Are you saying…are you saying on one of those visits that I…” Peter ran a hand over his forehead.
“Not necessarily,” said Claire with a shrug. “Besides. You can always change things. You did back then, after all.”
Peter looked very pale, and Claire sighed. “Take them. You should take them and go back to your apartment. You’ll figure it out from there. The rules are in there, too.”
“Rules?”
“The other piece of paper, see?” She pulled out another slip of paper, one that was not as folded and stained. “Just read them before you go,” she said exasperatedly.
Peter put a hand on the doorknob. “I told you, I can’t time travel.”
“And I told you that you can,” said Claire, and she rolled her eyes. “Figure it out.”
He frowned as he jerked the door open, and didn't say goodbye before he left.
Claire smiled.
Sometimes her Future needed a little push.
next chapter!